Diamonds in the Rough
by Pixie Muffin
Summary: When Hanna Marin's scholarship at the elite Rosewood Academy is threatened by a mystery person known only as A, she teams up with friends to find out who A is & to keep her spot at the Academy. Short PLL AU! 13/13 chapters. Constructive criticism?
1. Chapter 1

I.

The old treehouse on the edge of campus is burning to the ground as I type. I know what you're thinking: why should you care? Well, Hanna Banana. You might want to check your drawers. ― A

Matchbooks. Black leather gloves. An empty green canteen that still reeked of gas.

This was all in Hanna Marin's underwear drawer, and she had no idea how any of it had gotten there.

She looked around the room. Her dorm at Rosewood Academy was small, but practical. She had decorated the room with the bare minimum ― sheets on the bed, a lamp on the nightstand, and a laptop that sometimes worked and always stayed open on her desk.

She didn't have a roommate, and no one else had the key to her dorm. How someone could have broken into her room without wrecking the door or having the other nosy Cavanaugh Hall residents notice was beyond Hanna. She shuddered, suddenly feeling exposed.

She put the items back in the drawer, hid them at the bottom. Imagine explaining that to the dean: "Someone burned the treehouse down? What? No! I have no idea how those fire-starting tools got mixed in with my push-up bras!"

Hanna sighed. Shut her eyes and inhaled. For now, she would pretend it didn't happen. The text, the equipment, all of it ― swept aside.

In the morning, though, she would have to get to the bottom of this.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

The Grand Library was easily the most impressive building on the Rosewood Academy campus, which was quite an accomplishment when the campus in question had over 100 buildings, each worth millions.

The gilded floor tiles in the Heritage Center and the silver chandeliers in the Legacy House couldn't hold a candle to the library with its marble tables, red velvet carpet, stained glass windows and massive collection of valuable books. Despite its beauty, most Rosewood Academy students had never seen the inside of the place. Some were too afraid to step foot in the building, fearing they would shatter some antique or tear a page in some first-edition Jane Austen novel.

But most students never ventured into the library simply because they didn't feel worthy.

On a normal day, Hanna was one of those students ― the scholarship kids who felt too dull to sit among so much shine and wealth. A pebble among diamonds.

Today, though, she had someone to see, and she knew he would be there, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Caleb Rivers sat on a leather armchair in the main room, slouched into the cushions with a laptop on his knees. He had that smirk on his face, like he knew just how much he didn't belong and didn't care at all. Hanna had always admired that about him, though she would never tell him that.

Her relationship with Caleb was strictly business; she needed someone to fix her perpetually broken laptop, and he needed sustenance money. Their system worked beautifully.

Hanna sat in the armchair beside him, feeling self-conscious. She could feel about a dozen eyes turn on her instantly. Judging from the way Caleb's smirk widened, she knew he could feel them too.

"What brings the princess to see the pauper this afternoon?" he said, not even looking up from his computer screen. This was an old joke between them, going back as far as their first year at the Academy. At first glance, Hanna could have been one of the legacies ― the students whose families practically owned the boarding school, the kind of girls who crushed gems and used them as bath salts. She curled her blonde hair meticulously each day and made sure not even a drop of lip gloss was smudged. Caleb had pegged her as a princess from the start; imagine his surprise when they ended up in Cavanaugh Hall together ― the dorms known all around campus as a refuge for scholarship students. The peasants of the school.

And suddenly, Hanna wasn't such a princess anymore. But by then, the name had stuck.

Hanna shifted her purse from her left to her right, opening it cautiously. "I have a mystery for you to solve."

Caleb raised an eyebrow. "I've upgraded from peasant to detective. And it's only taken four years." He shut his laptop and turned to her, grinning. "What's up?"

"I got a message from a blocked number yesterday," Hanna said quietly. She took her phone out of her bag and handed it over. The text was saved. She knew it word for word now.

Caleb let out a low whistle as he read it. "What was in your drawers?" he asked.

"This." She opened her purse just enough for him to see the evidence sitting in her bag ― the matches, the gloves, the canteen. The smell of gas seeped out. She shut the bag. "Whoever this 'A' person is ― I think they're going to try to frame me."

"Who would want to do that?"

"No idea. That's where I need your help."

"Tracing a blocked number? Pre-school stuff." Caleb smirked. "But tracing a blocked number through only a text message ― that's more like grad school. It'll take a lot of work."

"I have cash." Hanna handed him an envelope. "Five hundred, to start with."

"Well, damn, Princess. That's quite a price tag."

"If I get framed for arson?" Hanna shook her head. "My scholarship money, my whole future ― shot to the ground. This is nothing compared to what I could lose."

Caleb nodded. He knew what it was like to depend on scholarships here, on maintaining near perfect grades and squeaky clean records. One misstep and you could easily find yourself standing outside the locked Rosewood Academy gates without a penny to your name.

"Okay," Caleb said, pocketing the cash. "I'll see what I can do."


	3. Chapter 3

III.

By the time the dining halls opened for breakfast the next morning, news of the burned treehouse was on the tip of every Academy student's tongue. The arson had made the front page of the school's newspaper, and police cars had appeared on campus overnight.

Hanna woke up to a barrage of alerts, status updates inching closer and closer to nailing down a culprit.

She dialed Caleb's number so fast, her fingers hurt.

"Princess."

"Please tell me you've made some progress in our little mission from yesterday."

"I'm working on it." She could practically hear the smirk widening around his words. "You sound like you're in the middle of a heart attack. Should I leave you to it, or ―?"

"Caleb. The police are everywhere and I have a bunch of evidence sitting around in my room. A heart attack would actually be welcome at this point."

"Calm down, Goldilocks. The police aren't even blinking in your direction."

"How do you know?"

"Because," he said, "they already have a suspect."

Hanna paused. "Who is it?"

"Some guy from Hastings Hall," said Caleb. "They're calling him out on 'suspicious behavior.' A bunch of people spotted him hanging around the treehouse, going in and not coming out for hours. He's probably being questioned all day. You're not even close to being framed at this point."

"Do you know his name?"

"Demands, demands." Caleb laughed. "Luckily for you, my ears are always open. His name's Lucas. Lucas Gottesman."

The name danced around Hanna's head all morning until she heard it, loud and jarring, in her first block class. "Lucas Gottesman," the professor said, "you're expected at the Main Office."

And all the eyes in the room turned upward to watch the boy ― a dark-haired, awkward type ― stand, gather his books and shuffle out of the room.

Hanna caught a glimpse of his face and saved it to her memory. She would be seeing him later. She had a lot to discuss with him.

After surviving her four classes of the day, Hanna dropped off her books in her dorm and grabbed her purse. Shoving her laptop into the bag reminded her of something her mother told her before Hanna went off to the Academy. "The key to survival for any girl," Mrs. Marin had said, "is a purse large enough to hide her secrets."

Tucking the evidence into her bag, Hanna silently thanked her mother for these words of wisdom. She slung the purse over her shoulder and headed to East Dining Hall, where lunch was just being served.

Hanna had heard all the horror stories about cafeteria lunches ― mystery meats and grease-soaked fries, chicken that never truly tasted like chicken. But she knew that her high school situation was far from the norm. The food in the Academy's dining halls was real gourmet, award-winning stuff. Each time Hanna swiped her meal card, she imagined her mother's money swirling down a metaphorical drain. She often rationed herself, counting calories in her head as she decided between a turkey or ham sandwich, and whether or not to spring for that bowl of pudding.

Hanna decided on the turkey sandwich and said no to the pudding, throwing together a fruit salad instead. She surveyed the dining hall for a glimpse of that dark hair, those hunched shoulders from earlier.

Then she saw him, sitting in a both in the farthest corner of the room. Lucas Gottesman, shoveling vegetables into his mouth as though lettuce and tomatoes where the only things keeping him alive.

Hanna took a deep breath and crossed the dining hall to sit with him.

"Lucas?"

He looked up slowly, meeting her eyes. He swallowed a mouthful of salad. "Yes?"

"I have a few questions for you and you're not going to like them."

Lucas sighed, taking a sip of cranberry juice. "It's funny how every conversation I've had today has started out more or less the same way."

"Sorry."

"Go ahead." He shrugged. "You can ask me whatever you want to know. I didn't set the stupid treehouse on fire."

"Any idea who might have?"

"No clue."

"So why are the police so sure that you did?"

Lucas smirked. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were an undercover cop. A pretty one, but a cop nonetheless."

"Nope. Just a curious student." Hanna smirked and flashed her card. "I've got my ID to prove it."

Lucas laughed. "I don't know. You seem a little more than curious. Like you're digging for something." He shrugged. "You're probably better off just telling me what you want to know."

Hanna had to admit: this kid was sharper than he looked. Underneath the scruffy black hair, she could practically see the gears turning, his system letting him know that she wasn't exactly dangerous, but she couldn't be trusted. Not entirely.

"I know what it's like," Hanna explained, "to have the finger pointed at you for something you didn't do."

"So. You don't think I did it?"

"I don't."

Lucas nodded. "It's pretty hard to argue with the evidence stacked against me. I was practically living in that treehouse for the past couple of months. Most people don't even know it exists. And suddenly, it's burned to the ground. I'd blame me, if I were in your shoes."

"Well, I don't," Hanna said. "So what was so important about that treehouse that you basically set up camp there?"

"It's nothing." He shrugged. "My grandfather built it, that's all. Back when he was here at the Academy. It was his fourth-year project. He had some old pictures in there. Some journals. Sentimental stuff."

"So all those pictures and journals ..."

"Nothing but dust now. I checked."

Hanna bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

"Is that really all you wanted to get out of me?" Lucas smiled, but it was watery. "A sob story?"

"I wanted to give you something, actually," she said. "A chance to get even."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "I'm working on figuring out who really burned down the treehouse."

"That's great. But, um."

"What?"

Lucas eyed her. He couldn't quite tell what to think of her. "What's in it for you?"

"Believe it or not, I think finding out who did this will help me out just as much as it'll help you."

"And why is that?"

"Because." She opened her bag, revealing the evidence. "I'm being framed for it."


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Here's a question even the great Spencer Hastings can't answer: are you smarter than a charity case? I'll give you a hint. The answer is no. You're not. ― A

Spencer Hastings was not used to being confused. But as she read and re-read the text message sitting in her inbox Friday afternoon, she couldn't help it.

First off, she had no idea who had sent the message. She'd mastered the art of deciphering texts based on style, grammar and punctuation. But this 'A' person had covered their bases; perfectly punctuated and grammatically correct, this text could have come from any of the English buffs in Hastings Hall.

Second, Spencer couldn't process the idea of someone being smarter than her. It was simply impossible. She'd held the highest GPA in all of her classes since kindergarten, and now some mystery person was telling her she'd been usurped? By a "charity case," no less?

Spencer viciously typed out a text: "SOS. Meet in my room ASAP."

Not even five minutes later, Spencer's best friends arrived at her dorm, phones still in their hands.

Mona Vanderwaal and Aria Montgomery looked equally disheveled and out of breath. Mona took a seat on the edge of Spencer's bed, while Aria settled into the plush computer chair by Spencer's desk. "What's going on?" Aria asked, waving her phone. "You haven't sent out an SOS in ages."

The last time Spencer had called out for help, it was because she'd needed help deciding on a dress for some banquet in their second year. Needless to say, the situation at hand was much more serious. "Listen to this," she said, and read the text message aloud. "Apparently, someone's taken over my top spot."

Aria frowned. "That's impossible, Spence."

"I thought so too." She shuddered. "I'll be a laughing-stock if people find out I dropped in rank. And imagine what my parents or my sister would say. Especially if I really am getting beat out by some Goodwill-wearing, Salvation-Army-shopping scholarship geek."

Mona twirled her dark curls with her finger, thinking deeply. "Well, can't we find out who it is and ― I don't know, ask them to bomb their next couple of tests for a good price?"

"Or," Aria said, "we could save our money and just drop whoever it is down a few notches on our own."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've got a devious plan cooked up, Montgomery. Elaborate."

Aria bit her lip. Twirled a little in the chair. "I could get into the school's academic database," she offered shyly. "I know my mom's info."

Spencer lit up. "Aria, that'd be amazing."

"And illegal as hell," Mona said.

"That doesn't matter right now," Spencer cut in. "Aria, can you really do that?"

She shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

The girls all hovered over the computer while Aria typed in her mother's log-in information. Ella Montgomery was the head of the English department at Rosewood Academy, and as such, she had access to all the academic records of the students at the school. For someone so brilliant, Aria's mother had deceptively simple passwords for everything. Once, Aria had deleted a particularly unflattering teacher's note from her mother's email by guessing that the password was "swordfish."

When Aria got into the database, she quickly found the rankings for fourth-year students. Sure enough, Spencer Hastings was now #2.

Sitting in the top spot was a blond, green-eyed girl that Spencer had never seen before on campus. Right away, Spencer could tell she wasn't a rich girl. She had little make-up on, and her hair ― while pretty ― was definitely not professionally done. On top of all this, she didn't have a last name that rung any bells. Her name was as basic and nondescript as she was: Marin. Hanna Marin.

"Who is she?" Mona asked, equally baffled.

Aria studied the ranking information. "Hanna Marin. Cavanaugh Hall. GPA on a 100-point scale: 99.88."

"Impossible." Spencer shook her head. She read her own stats, nostrils flaring. Spencer Hastings, Hastings Hall, trailing this Hanna girl almost imperceptibly with a 99.85 GPA.

"Fix this," Spencer demanded.

Aria got typing, changing individual grades just marginally enough to drop Hanna down a few spaces. But Spencer was ruthless. "Drop her down to a 70," she said. "I don't want to risk a charity case comeback."

Mona frowned. "Spence."

But Aria keyed in a few more numbers and, just like that, Hanna Marin was wiped from the top 10 all together. Spencer moved up to #1. All was right in the world again.

"You're a life-saver," Spencer said, hugging her friend.

"That's what friends are for," said Aria, laughing.

While Spencer and Mona went back to checking their own phones, Aria checked her own ranking: not too far down the list, she sat at #15 with a 96.5 GPA. Mona was not as far down as Aria expected, sitting at #40 with an impressive 88.0.

At last, Aria typed the name she was most afraid to see: Michael Montgomery.

It was even worse than she'd anticipated. Her brother was at the very bottom of the rankings list, with an unbelievable 10.75 GPA.

"What's wrong?" Mona asked, peering over Aria's shoulder.

Aria logged out of the database, slamming the laptop shut. "Nothing," she said. "Just covering my tracks. Don't want to get busted."

Mona nodded, understanding, and went back to texting. Aria pretended to do the same.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Hanna checked the envelope three times to make sure that it was, in fact, addressed to her. But it couldn't be. Because the letter she'd gotten in her campus P.O. Box that morning was threatening to revoke her scholarships, and Hanna knew for a fact that she had a near-perfect GPA.

Except, according to this letter, she didn't.

_Hanna Marin_

_Cavanaugh Hall_

_As a recipient of the Diamond Scholarship _―_ a merit scholarship in the full amount of tuition, room and board at Rosewood Academy _―_ you are expected to maintain a certain academic standing: a grade-point average of at least 90.0. The financial office has been informed that you have failed to maintain the required grade-point average. As a result, your scholarship is now in jeopardy. _

_In order to ensure that you continue receiving your scholarship, you must improve your grade-point average by the end of the second quarter. If you do not receive a 90.0 overall by then, your scholarship will be bestowed upon another student of the academic office's choosing._

_Sincerely,_

_Byron Montgomery_

_Financial Office_

After screaming into her pillow for a good half hour, Hanna called the one person who could always decipher the things she herself couldn't understand.

"Yup?" Caleb answered, his voice scratchy with sleepiness. Hanna glanced at the clock. It was nearly 3 PM on a Saturday. She stifled a laugh at her friend's horrible sleeping habits.

"Caleb," she said. "It's Hanna."

"I know. There's this really cool thing they invented a while back; it's called caller ID."

"Whatever." Hanna waved his sarcasm off. "I have a problem."

"I'm listening."

Hanna explained the scholarship business and said, "Something's going on here. I haven't gotten a single grade below an A since I've been here, and all of a sudden, my scholarship's up for grabs?"

"No way. Your GPA is basically a 100. Either the financial office made a mistake, or ―"

"Wait. How do you know my GPA?"

If only she could see Caleb's face then. She imagined his eyes going wide, looking utterly trapped like a deer in headlights.

"I, um." He hesitated. "I've been working on this little mission of yours for a few days now. Checking the school's academic records and whatever. I saw your GPA a couple of days ago. You're, um. Really smart."

"You sound so surprised," Hanna said, mock-offended.

"No, no! I'm not. I mean, it's just ― you never struck me as a brainiac-type."

"So I look stupid, is what you're saying?"

"No! You look good. But like, not in a sexual way. I mean, you do look good in a sexual way, but that's not what I'm ― you don't look stupid, okay? You look fine. I just ―"

"Relax, Caleb." Hanna smirked. "I get it. The Princess being a super-nerd on the down-low is ironic."

He sighed. "Yeah. It is. And it makes this whole 'A' thing even harder to solve. Pretty much any geek or scholarship kid has a reason to want you expelled, with your grades. Do you know how much attention you'd be getting if you were ..."

"One of the rich kids?" Hanna finished for him.

Caleb groaned. "I'm royally screwing up in the conversation department today, aren't I?"

"Just a tad. But I get what you mean. Whoever's after me is clearly after me because of my grades." Hanna frowned. "So this scholarship letter ―"

"Is probably not a mistake." Hanna could practically hear the plan coming to a rolling boil in Caleb's head.

"Oh, no. What are you thinking?" she said.

"I've gotta go. Leave this up to me."

"Caleb."

But he'd already ended the call.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

Caleb set up his personal corner in the Grand Library, complete with snacks, drinks and his laptop. He could sense the evening ahead of him would be a long one. Two six-packs of Red Bull would certainly get him through it, he hoped. It wasn't like he was doing anything particularly complicated.

He began with the lightweight stuff ― masking his IP address and getting into the school's database. Now came the actual search. He scanned a few offices ― admissions, athletic, academic ― before finding the finance office's scholarship information. Hanna Marin's information still had not been updated, and she remained listed as the recipient of the Diamond Scholarship. Caleb checked the list of the other recipients, surprised to find one Michael Montgomery listed.

Caleb's shock came from two facts: 1) the fact that the Montgomery name was one he never expected to find attached to a scholarship of any sort ― grants and prize money only, and 2) Mike Montgomery's GPA was nowhere near the 90.0 benchmark required for the Diamond Scholarship.

Caleb scoffed. If he wasn't reading it directly before his eyes, he wouldn't have believed it was possible. How could somebody be failing so spectacularly and still be receiving a scholarship?

Caleb clicked through to review the rest of Mike Montgomery's stats; immediately, a long list of credentials came up.

As Caleb skimmed through, he realized that the credentials began to read more like a rap sheet.

Mike had a record of disciplinary problems. Disrespectful behavior toward professors, poor attendance, and a history of drug use on campus, including possession of: marijuana, alcohol, and unprescribed painkillers. Several reported violent incidents, including damaging another student's vehicle and drunkenly breaking the nose of yet another student during a dispute.

Caleb put his cut-and-paste skills to work, lifting the information from the database into a text file. He spent the next hour coding the file and worming his way into the code of the school's website, where he dropped all of Mike's dirtiest secrets into cyberspace for all Rosewood Academy students to see on the school website's front page the next day.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

It was nearly midnight when Caleb got back to Cavanaugh Hall, eyes rimmed with dark circles, his laptop still warm from a hard day's work. Most people who had just single-handedly ruined some kid's life and reputation might have felt a bit of remorse at this point, but all Caleb could think about was Hanna. How she'd come to him in the library that first day, panicked, laying everything down in front of him and trusting him with all of it. How she'd singled him out and approached him, instead of slinking off into alleyways and whispering to talk the way everyone else on campus did when they needed him. Hanna could have easily passed for a diamond, or at the very least, a semiprecious stone. She could have sneaked into Cavanaugh Hall by the back entrance late at night so no one would see that she lived with the scholarship kids; she could have thrown around foreign-sounding designer names with the rich girls over lunch; she could have been one of them without even trying too hard. But she wasn't.

She had chosen to be herself, and now someone was torturing her for it. 'A' just couldn't let Hanna win.

The lights in the Cavanaugh Hall lobby were on, but the front desk was empty. Caleb heard sound effects and laughter coming from the lounge downstairs ― a late-night video game tournament, probably. Caleb couldn't remember the last time he'd had genuine, lighthearted fun. These days, when he wasn't worried about avoiding suspicion about his computer activity, he was worried about grades, worried about his mother back home and how devastated she would be if he lost his scholarship or flunked out of Rosewood entirely. And now, he had a new concern to add to the ever-growing list: Hanna.

Caleb signed himself into the hall and, hesitating for only a second, headed up to the fourth floor.

His mind was a storage tank for numbers and facts, and her room number flashed brighter than the rest behind his eyes: 408. 408. 408.

When he found the door, he raised his fist to knock, then let it fall to his side again. Why was he even there? It was late; she was probably studying. Sleeping. Not thinking about him at all. It wasn't too late yet. He could turn around, go up another level and return to his own dorm: 503. She wouldn't have to know he'd been here.

But Caleb had this problem where he would think of the smart, practical thing to do and then do the exact opposite. He knocked three times on her door and cringed. Twenty bucks said he would regret this later.

The door swung open slowly and he found her eyes in the tiny open crack. He couldn't see her whole face, but he saw the sliver of gray where a little of her eye make-up had run down her cheek.

"Are you crying?" Caleb pressed his hand against the door, trying to push his way in.

"It's late," Hanna said. "I'm tired."

"Let me in. I need to talk to you."

"I'm sure it can wait until tomorrow."

"But it can't." His voice broke a little. "I won't stay long."

She sighed. "One second."

The door shut. A moment later, it swung open again, and Hanna yanked Caleb inside. The gray streak had vanished from her face, he noticed, as she shut the door behind them.

"What is it?" she said, quietly. Her eyebrows were furrowed, not with anger, but concern.

Caleb realized then how strange this must have looked ― him turning up at her dorm at this hour, clutching a laptop and looking all sorts of disheveled. He set the laptop down on her desk beside hers, wiping his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. The room was dark, lit only by a single lamp on her nightstand, and he was glad she couldn't see how his hands were shaking. "I needed to see you," he began. "I mean ― see how you were holding up." He bit his lip, eyeing her warily. "Obviously, my instincts were on point, seeing as how you were crying a minute before I showed up."

"I wasn't crying."

"Now, now. Pretty girls shouldn't tell such ugly lies."

"Okay. Then I'll admit: I'm freaking out. I've been freaking out every second of every day since I got that first text message from A."

"It's only been a week," Caleb said. "I'm handling it. We still have time to figure out who's doing this. The police have barely made any progress in the arson case. They don't have anything besides rumors and lies linking Lucas to the crime. No solid evidence at all."

"But how long will A wait before telling them about the evidence sitting right here in my drawer? I can't even get rid of it. If someone sees me dumping out that stuff, I'm automatically guilty. This is a sick, twisted game and A's got me right where they want me. Deadlocked." Hanna took a step closer to Caleb, and the light spread over her, revealing her wide, panicked eyes. "Who would even believe me if I told them about A? I'll look like guilty and crazy."

"I believe you." Caleb shrugged. It had to count for something.

Hanna smiled, even as her eyes watered. "I could make all of this go away, you know. If A is only after me because of my grades, my scholarship money ― maybe I could just leave."

"Leave," Caleb said flatly. The word wasn't registering. "What do you mean, leave?"

"I could go to a public school. It's free, it's closer to home."

"Public school? What the hell? You're here for a reason, Hanna. The connections you'll have through the Academy are insane. You can't leave."

"If I lose my scholarship and get blamed for burning down the treehouse, I'll have no choice."

"So you're just going to let A bully you around?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to trust me. We made a deal, remember?" He took her hand, pulling her closer. The light from the lamp warmed her face. He brushed at a spot under her eye, where some tears had collected. "I promised you," he said, "that I would find out who's doing this to you. And I would stop them."

"Don't you know how bullies work?" Hanna said. "They don't just pick on you. They pick on the people you care about, knocking them down one by one, until you have no one left to help you. A is already after me." Her breath caught. "I don't know what I'd do if you — I don't want you to be next."

"You might surprised to hear this, Princess, but I know a lot about how bullies work. And I know that they don't leave you alone if you run from them. So, frankly, I don't care how much power A seems to have right now. I don't care how scared you are. We're going to figure this out, once and for all, and until then, Hanna Marin, you're not going anywhere."

What happened next made Caleb's insides lurch.

She reached up to pull him down to her. Not even an inch space separated their noses, their lips. Her skin was hot with so many feelings, her blood pumping with panic. Very softly, so softly, that he would wonder for hours later if he'd only imagined it, she said, "I wish I didn't need you so much."

She was so close and her mouth was right there and that was all the incentive he needed to kiss her, long and hard, until the sky outside her window began to lighten, a new day breaking through the dark.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

This was the first time Hanna had ever seen Caleb in the dining hall for lunch — for any meal, really — and judging by the way he surveyed the room, eventually meeting her eyes and approaching her, she could tell that he hadn't come for the food.

Lucas ― who had become something like an eating buddy to Hanna since that first day they'd talked in the dining hall― turned to her with a curious smile. "Care to explain why Caleb Rivers is currently marching his way over here with that determined, steely look on his face?"

Hanna sighed. "Long story. Care to explain how you even know him?"

"Everyone, for better or worse, knows that guy. He fixed my Nintendo 64 for no charge last year and I've considered him an indispensable colleague ever since."

"So you're friends?"

Lucas shook his head sadly. "Only in my wildest hallucinations."

Hanna heard the sound of Caleb's boots on the hardwood dining hall floors before she saw him slide into the seat across from her and Lucas. His hair was wild, unbrushed, and the dark circles under his eyes gave away the fact that he hadn't slept much since she'd seen him last.

That morning. In her dorm.

"Hanna. Can we talk?" he said, his eyes on Lucas.

Picking up on the hint, Lucas cleared his throat. "Oh, would you look at that?" he said. "There's some frozen yogurt. All the way over there. See you guys around."

He grabbed his bag and tray and walked off, leaving Hanna and Caleb to what would be an inevitably awkward conversation.

"We kissed," Caleb began.

Hanna took a sip of juice. "Did we?"

"Don't be like that. I want to talk about it."

"And here I was, hoping we could just forget it happened." Hanna smiled dryly. "I wasn't thinking straight earlier. I was panicking and you were there and things got out of hand. It happens. Nothing to over-analyze here."

"Listen. I might not have a near-perfect GPA like some people, but I'm not an idiot. That kiss meant something to me, Hanna. Don't tell me it didn't mean anything to you."

"Caleb. Spare us both the melodrama. I just want to hit rewind on this whole thing and go back to being strictly business. Me, paying you. You, helping me. Simple." Her voice was stern, but her eyes were pleading. "Can we do that? Please?"

"Fine. Whatever." He frowned. "But just so you know — I don't regret kissing you. We don't have to talk about it. But I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen."

Hanna was working on a comeback when her phone hummed in her shirt pocket. She reached for it just as Caleb's buzzed in his jeans.

They both had the same message sitting in their inboxes.

Nothing says "fun" like a scavenger hunt, don't you think? On your list of things to find: Mike Montgomery. The prize: $10,000 for the first one to find him ... alive.

Good luck and game on. ― A


	9. Chapter 9

IX.

Mike Montgomery had eyes that could crack ice.

His photograph stared out at Hanna from Caleb's computer screen, beside a wall of text detailing his entire history — the fights, the drugs, the failing grades. All the skeletons his family had probably spent millions to lock away in a closet. Now, they sat like a stain on the homepage of the Academy's website and in the e-mails of every student and faculty member on campus. Hanna imagined the school's tech consultants holed up in a dark office somewhere, typing like crazy to undo this, but with little progress. Caleb had outdone himself. No amount of scrubbing and covering-up would make this go away that easily.

"How is this even possible?" Hanna whispered, touching the screen as though half-expecting it to give way to her fingers like water, and vanish all together. "Where did all this come from?"

Caleb shrugged. "Let's just say it took a couple hours and a lot of typing, but I'd say it was worth it."

"Worth it? Caleb, Mike is missing. The day after this hits the internet. Coincidence? Not likely."

"It's his own fault," Caleb said. "Him and his family, tossing around money to keep him here. Meanwhile, people who actually deserve scholarships, people who work hard and actually need this place, we get pushed around and treated like dirt. This school is screwed, Hanna, and it's about time everyone here knew it."

"There must have been another way. You didn't have to do this. What if this 'A' person is serious, and something might have happened to Mike?"

"Then I guess we'd better get looking for him." Caleb pulled up a new window — a black one full of green gibberish. He began typing into it, and suddenly, some recognizable words appeared. Hanna saw that it was a listing of some kind: RA — Academics. RA — Athletics. RA — Cavanaugh. RA — Commons.

"What is this?" she asked.

"All the surveillance cameras on campus."

"Caleb."

"What?" He opened up the first one: RA — Academics. "They pretty much leave this footage open to anyone on the school's network."

"Did you forget," said Hanna, "that you're not supposed to have access to the school's network in the first place?"

Caleb grinned as the screen loaded, and the Academic Office came into view in real time. "It sure comes in handy, though," he said. "The footage goes back 48 hours, and there are 36 of these cameras set up around the campus, so we'd better get to work."

Hanna pulled up her chair beside him and watched as he quickly skimmed through the footage from the Academic Office. For some reason, Hanna was surprised to see that hardly anything happened there throughout the day. Most of the footage was of white-blouse-and-glasses-wearing people sitting in front of computers, typing. Every now and then, someone came to the office, spoke very briefly with the receptionist, exchanged papers and left. If the office were a reality show, the producers would have had to set the place on fire to get any sort of reaction from anyone there.

"Not much to see here," Caleb said dryly. He closed the window and opened the next one — the Athletics Center.

Again, nothing of note was in that footage, besides the varsity lacrosse team's coach staggering into the building late the previous night. Caleb could practically smell the liquor coming off him through the computer screen, but that wasn't important right now. They checked the Cavanaugh Hall footage. This was a bit more lively, with all the students moving in and out of the building. Caleb saw himself walk into the lobby and sign in, and suddenly the tips of his ears went pink with the memory of that night. Of how close he and Hanna had been when he —

"Mike's name would have been in the sign-in book," said Hanna, shutting the Cavanaugh Hall window. "The police probably checked all the dorms' guest books already. Check this one."

She clicked on the Commons surveillance footage, and when the window came up, a section of the campus Hanna had never seen appeared on the screen.

It was something of a greenhouse, a building filled with plants. Caleb began to fast-forward through the footage, and Hanna was about to rule out this one out as a boring minute-by-minute account of grass growing when suddenly, a flash of black swept across the screen.

"Wait!" Hanna said. Caleb rewinded the footage a bit, and paused as the black figure appeared on the screen.

Now, they could see that it was a person wearing a dark hoodie, hands tucked into the pockets and shoulders hunched as he quickly disappeared into the greenhouse.

"Oh my God." Hanna leaned into the screen. She couldn't make out his face clearly at all, could only see his hair jutting up from his head, but she had a sinking feeling. "Check the time," she said.

Caleb did. Early that morning, around the same time that Caleb had returned to his own dorm, this mystery person was ducking into the Commons.

Caleb fast-forwarded the footage all the way up to the live feed, and there was no sign of the person ever coming out.


	10. Chapter 10

X.

The map of the campus provided on the Academy's website was incredibly unhelpful, too many places clustered together tightly, too many names in the list along the side of the map. Hanna and Caleb attempted to decipher the Commons' location for a total of ten minutes before Hanna gave up and called Lucas for help.

"The Commons," he said, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice. "Yeah, it's a big garden and a bunch of greenhouses near where the treehouse used to be."

"Do you think you could take us to it?" Hanna asked.

"Sure." And then the inevitable question. "Why?"

"It's a really long story."

"Give me the Sparknotes version."

"There's something in there that I would really like to find, and soon."

"Girls and their cryptic messages," Lucas said. "I'll meet you in front of your hall in five minutes?"

"Perfect. Thanks, Lucas."

She hung up. As she reached to tuck the phone away in her pocket, it pinged with a text message.

Tick tock, Hanna Banana.

At this rate, the vultures will get to Mike before you will. — A

"Let's go," she said, shoving the phone into her pocket. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, and Caleb rose to join her.

They waited in front of Cavanaugh Hall for a few minutes before they spotted Lucas jogging toward them. His cheeks were red, and a layer of sweat coated his face. "Hey," he panted. "So you need to get to the Commons?"

"Yeah." Hanna frowned, reaching for his shoulders to steady him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." Lucas laughed. "Been running around all day. The police are asking me about the treehouse. More police are asking me about Mike Montgomery. I have no idea why, seeing as how I never talked to the guy a day in my life."

"Really?" Caleb quirked an eyebrow. "You never saw him around your hall?"

Lucas shook his head. "To be honest, I had no idea the Montgomery family had a son who went here." He shrugged. "I know the girl, Aria. Vaguely. But I never met Mike."

"This Mike guy is the shadiest of the shady," Caleb said with a whistle. "He's got a shitload of explaining to do when we find him."

"Find him?" Lucas frowned. "You're looking for him?"

"Yep." Caleb smiled mysteriously. "Now, Mr. Gottesman, if you would kindly direct us to the Commons, I believe a suspicious young man will be awaiting us there."

* * *

The Commons must have been designed to go unnoticed, nestled in the middle of the woods surrounding the Academy's campus, a group of small plexiglass buildings.

"They're greenhouses, basically," Lucas explained. "One building's got a little bit of everything in it, another one's set up like a museum with display cases, and the last building is sort of a free-for-all vegetable garden."

"I've read all the pamphlets and every section of the school's website," said Hanna, "and I've never heard of this place."

Lucas smiled wanly. "It's Rosewood Academy's best-kept secret."

"Besides, you know, the corruption and blackmail," Hanna said. "How are we going to find Mike here?"

"Let's split up." Caleb pointed toward the building on the far left. "I'll take that one. Hanna, you take the second one. Lucas, you've got the third."

They separated, heading into their assigned buildings.

The inside of the second greenhouse had a low ceiling — the fronds of the plants lined up along the walls grazed the roof. Tables were set up around the main lobby, each housing some soil-filled bin or bowl, flowers curling over the edge of their vases. The place was eerily quiet; the plants swayed gently, though there was no breeze. Hanna walked along the long hall until she came to a door at the end, which opened into a smaller, domed area of the greenhouse.

She was standing in the center of that space when she heard a shout.

Hanna bolted out of the greenhouse, meeting with Caleb at the entrance to the third building. They exchanged a concerned look, then went inside to find Lucas.

He was still shouting when they reached him. He stood blocking the doorway to the domed section of the greenhouse.

When Hanna and Caleb found a way around him, they saw what had him so horrified.

Mike Montgomery was strung up to the oak tree in the center of the room. His lips were cracked and blue, a rope looped tight around his neck.

He was dead.


	11. Chapter 11

XI.

Before she came to Rosewood Academy, Hanna could have counted her traumatizing life experiences on one hand.

Her father walking out on her suddenly when she was too young to handle his absence.

The time her mother had sprinted through the house naked after a shower and revealed a bit too much to Hanna in the process.

The days when those pretty, evil girls in middle school would corner her and shove cupcakes against her teeth, into her mouth, as they chanted like a cult: "Hefty, Hefty, Hefty! Hanna, Hanna, Hanna!"

Now, in the course of a week, she had doubled — no, tripled — that list.

Watching the police seal off the greenhouse with bright yellow caution tape, Hanna felt her eyes glazing over and sealing shut. Behind them, the image of Mike Montgomery — the bruises on his sunken face, the raw skin of his neck where the rope had dug in — burned too bright.

A small crowd had gathered outside of the greenhouse now, and Hanna began to recognize some of the faces present: Lucas and Caleb were still standing, shell-shocked, some yards away from the scene; the Hastings Hall girls were huddled together, a little group of them holding a tiny dark-haired girl up as she slumped forward.

When the girl looked up, Hanna saw her mascara running thickly down her face. Real tears, it seemed. Maybe she was Mike's girlfriend?

The police officers, once they had finished labeling the scene, began to shoo the crowd away, calling forward only the students who had found the body and the immediate family of the victim, if present.

Soon, four students stood before the officers: Lucas, Caleb, Hanna, and the dark-haired girl with mascara streaming down her cheeks.

"Your names?" one officer asked, taking notes.

"Lucas Gottesman."

"Caleb Rivers."

"Hanna Marin."

The dark-haired girl sniffed. "Aria Montgomery."


	12. Chapter 12

XII.

They spent the rest of that evening answering questions as vaguely as they could — they were just curious fourth-years, exploring the campus, when they came across the Commons and found the body inside. They had no idea that Mike Montgomery would be there. They hardly knew the boy. They were just as shocked as anyone to find him dead.

That night Lucas, Caleb, and Hanna waited in her room. What they were waiting for, none of them could have said exactly. Lucas wrung his hands a lot, wiping the sweat all along his jeans, his shirt. Caleb clicked away minimally at his laptop, frowning every now and then, but remaining silent. Hanna checked her phone every five minutes, refreshing her Facebook page and Twitter and finding trivial changes.

Then, her phone hummed. Caleb's, too. Finally, Lucas's pinged with a text.

Game over. — A

"Game over?" Lucas frowned. "What game?"

As if answering his question, Hanna's phone lit up with another text.

Check your bag, Hanna Banana. You win.

She reached for her bag, which had been slumped in the corner of her room. She dumped out its contents across the floor, searching frantically through the many tubes of lip gloss and the assorted hair scrunchies she'd thought she'd lost forever.

Finding nothing, she reached into the bag again and felt a bulge in one of the side pockets.

She unzipped the pouch. Inside, she found a wad of hundred-dollar bills.

She counted them out once, twice, three times. In her hands, Hanna had $10,000 in cash.

* * *

The next morning, the first headline after the discovery of Mike's body turned up on the unofficial Rosewood Academy gossip column blog: "Arson, Blackmail, Hacking — Fourth-Year Aria Montgomery Withdraws from RA."

Hanna's phone was in a constant state of ringing. She answered one call before shutting off her phone for the day.

The call was from Caleb.

"She was 'A,'" were the first words out of his mouth when Hanna picked up. "Aria Montgomery, of all people, was 'A.'"

"I know," Hanna heard herself saying. Her own voice was breathy and faraway in her ears. "I can't believe it."

One of Rosewood Academy's shining, diamond girls was reduced to a dirty pebble overnight. The Montgomery family had held themselves so tightly together with wrapping that, when one of them burst through, they all fell out, exposed.

Hanna listened vaguely as Caleb read her the articles he was finding about Aria: "The honors student and young socialite admitted to setting a campus landmark on fire and planting evidence on fellow Rosewood Academy fourth year, Hanna Marin, blackmailing her for the crime. Montgomery also confessed to accessing confidential school databases and tampering with academic records. At the same time, Montgomery's father Byron - former head of the financial office - resigned from his position, leaving in his wake a string of accusations regarding embezzlement and record fraud during his time at Rosewood Academy. Family matriarch Ella also resigned and declined to comment on the allegations being launched against her family. 'At this time, I can't explain or offer an excuse for my actions,' Aria Montgomery stated early this morning in a press conference following her withdrawal from the academy. 'However, I wish to issue an apology to Hanna Marin. I'm sure she knows by now why I did what I did. She should also know, however, how deeply I regret it.'"

Caleb scoffed. "She did it to save her family's ass," he said. "And they left her to take the fall."

"Is that pity I hear in your voice, Mr. Rivers?" Hanna said, only half-teasing.

"Not pity," Caleb said. "Just complete and utter bafflement."

"That's a funny word."

"It is." He laughed. "It's the only word that sums up the soup my brain has become trying to figure all this out. The treehouse burning, the scholarship issue, these texts from 'A'? Finally knowing who was behind it —"

"Is the greatest feeling in the world," Hanna finished.

"Yeah," said Caleb. "Exactly. Exactly."

When she and Caleb hung up, someone knocked on Hanna's dorm room door. She opened it and saw the Cavanaugh Hall resident adviser standing in the hall. "There's a call downstairs for you," the lanky guy in a maroon Rosewood Academy hoodie said, shrugging. "Pick up the phone in the lobby."

Hanna bounded down the staircases, her heart pounding, though she couldn't say why. When she picked up the phone and said, "Hello?" a woman's gentle voice greeted her.

"Hanna Marin?" said the woman.

"Speaking."

"This is Pam Fields in the finance office. I believe you were contacted a short while ago by a former chair-member, Mr. Montgomery? well, I'm calling to inform you that the misunderstanding about your scholarship has been addressed. You will continue to receive your full scholarship to Rosewood Academy."

* * *

Hanna opened her biology book during her first block and found $500 tucked neatly in between pages 12 and 13. She sucked in a breath, looking around to see if this was the doing of anyone in the room. No one was watching her, so she figured they were all innocent.

Which left only one person who could have slipped the money into her book.

* * *

After class, Hanna marched to the Grand Library, and seeing the stained glass and red carpet reminded her of that day a week earlier, when she'd come here for the same reason.

To see Caleb Rivers with his laptop on his knees, legs crossed on a plush armchair, oblivious but all too aware of the disgusted looks he was receiving.

"You seem to have misplaced something, sir," Hanna said, slapping the money onto his keyboard.

He looked up at her through his messy hair. He had unintentional bangs, and Hanna felt a tiny pang of jealousy at how well he pulled them off. "You know, people are going to start getting suspicious if you keep turning up and throwing huge amounts of money at me." He picked up the money and held it out to her without so much as glancing at Benjamin Franklin's all-knowing face.

"Caleb," Hanna said.

"Hanna," he replied, biting down his smirk.

"You earned this money. Don't you go all noble on me now. It doesn't suit you."

He pouted. "Oh, geez. I'm hurt. Maybe I just don't want to accept this payment because the thrill of having solved this great mystery is more than enough compensation for me."

"Maybe." Hanna rolled her eyes. "Or maybe you're giving me back the money so that I can owe you in some other way."

Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying that I want to sexually exploit you?"

"Or, you know. Get me to write a paper for you. Cover your dinner bill. Help you hack into the Russian government's databases or something equally sinister. 'Hey, Hanna, you mind fluffing my pillows for me? Don't forget about that time I helped you out and gave you back your money.'"

Caleb paused thoughtfully. The money was still up in the air. "You really think I'd do that?" he said, lightly, as though her answer wouldn't really matter to him either way.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't want to owe anyone anything."

He chewed a bit on the end of his smile. "Okay." He tucked the wad of money into a pocket on the front of her bag. "So you don't owe me anything."

"Caleb, please."

"Is it so hard to believe that maybe someone would want to do something to help you — no strings attached, no fee required? That maybe you shouldn't have to pay somebody for looking out for you?" He shut his laptop, set it on the table in front of him and stood, making Hanna feel incredibly small. "Don't be so quick to throw your cash at me, Princess. Contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart."

She blushed. "I know that."

"You know a lot of things," said Caleb. "But I don't think you know what I'm trying to say." He gestured around the library, its massiveness and extravagance. "At first glance, you're one of those girls who belongs here. You're blonde and brilliant and beautiful, and no one looks twice at you when you walk into a library whose windows cost more than my mortgage. If you were anybody else, I would have not only kept your money, but charged you double just because if there's one thing I hate, it's a rich girl."

Hanna knew that feeling all too well; the silent, hot resentment she felt whenever she saw a pair of diamond-encrusted ballet flats, or a ruby-studded butterfly hairpin nestled among deeply shampooed curls. She touched her own plastic headband self-consciously, the residue of cheapness coming away on her fingertips.

Caleb watched her movements, smirking. "You're not one of them," he said. "I've learned that over the course of four years. You look blonde, but you act brunette. You're brilliant, but you've never waved an A+ term paper in my face or texted me daily updates on your academic rank."

Hanna laughed. "Subtle Spencer Hastings shade."

Caleb smiled. "You're not a Spencer Hastings. Or an Aria Montgomery. Or any of the other girls at RA. That," he said, "is why I helped you out. Not because you waved $500 in my face. Though that was a strong incentive, at first."

"Of course." Hanna smiled.

"I'd like to think," said Caleb, "that we've reached that point in our friendship where we can do things like that. Like hack stuff for each other. And eavesdrop for each other. And take care of each other."

"Take care," Hanna repeated, her voice rising despite her efforts to keep it flat.

"Yes," Caleb said. "Care."

"People don't just automatically care for people, Caleb."

"Talk about trust issues," he said, rolling his eyes. "You know what? Maybe you were right. Maybe I'm exchanging the money for some bigger favor. Maybe there is some ulterior motive. Maybe there is something I want."

"So let me get this straight," said Hanna. "You do want something, but you don't want my money?"

"Jesus Christ, Hanna."

Several annoyed library-goers had already been shooting them venomous looks, but their eyes widened with rapt attention now, as Caleb pulled her in. A heavy moment hung in the air while nothing happened. While Caleb simply stared her down, clenching his fists — which where gripping the fabric of her sleeves — as though fighting himself on the issue of what to do next, now that he had her.

He decided, in the end, to kiss her.

His mouth connected with hers like a car crash. The impact sent shocks through the both of them. He held her in place, though he didn't have to; she was stunned, standing perfectly still. The only parts of her that she could be certain were still functioning were her lips, moving with his, and her heart, pounding audibly in her chest.

When he pulled away, Hanna felt like she'd burst out from a dream too soon, her whole body contracting from the loss.

"I don't want your stupid money," Caleb said, biting his lip.

Hanna nodded.

She knew what it was that he wanted now.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII.

Want a birthday surprise?

Look behind you, Princess.

— A

Hanna whipped around, heart racing. So many faces blurred together in the crowd outside on the quad — groups of students tossing a frisbee, some lying down on the grass reading, others flicking out the ashes of their cigarettes into the dirt.

It only took a moment for her to spot Caleb standing by a tree, grinning with a cell phone in his hands.

Jerk.

It had been months since her last text from the real A, and no one at Rosewood Academy had seen Aria since her withdrawal, but Hanna had never lost that edge, that sense that someone had the upper hand.

"Don't scare me like that, you moron," she said as Caleb approached her, but she hugged him nonetheless. "Why can't you be a nice boyfriend and surprise me with cupcakes? Little vanilla cupcakes with mountains of frosting and sprinkles."

"Since when have I ever been a nice boyfriend?" Caleb said with mock disgust, kissing her forehead. "I only block my number and send you creepy texts out of love. But! That's not to say that I don't have a real surprise for you." He took her hand then, pulling her away from the quad. "Come on. It's in my room."

"Sounds scandalous."

"You wish." He rolled his eyes. "It's PG-rated, trust me."

The walk to Cavanaugh Hall was the most freeing walk Hanna had ever taken in her life. So much had happened in the past few months, but the weight of it all had only been sinking into Hanna's skin gradually. Now, it crushed her all at once, but in the best way. She was free. Her scholarship was intact. Her fourth-year project was complete. She would probably be graduating at the top of her class in a couple of months, much to the bitter disappointment of the famous Spencer Hastings. And she was walking hand in hand with the boy who had been there through all of it.

He smiled at her then, and she realized she must have been staring at him for a good minute, all dreamy-eyed and happy. Some months ago, she would have scowled. Blushed. Looked away and pretended the eye contact had never happened.

Now, she had no shame as they approached room 503. Still holding her hand, he reached into his pocket for his key, savoring that slow, endless moment as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room looked unimpressive at first glance. Caleb kept it shockingly clean. It was fuller than Hanna's — something filled up every available shelf space — but it remained sparse-looking.

Caleb flipped on the light switch and shut the door behind him, and suddenly Hanna understood what was different about his room today.

"SURPRISE!" Lucas shouted, leaping out from the closet. He held a single vanilla cupcake with a leaning tower of frosting in one hand and a party-blower in the other. He blew it then, and Hanna was almost disappointed when a spray of confetti didn't come flying out.

She laughed. "Okay, you got me. I can't say I was expecting this."

They all cleared a spot on Caleb's floor and sat, Lucas handing the cupcake to Hanna, and Caleb producing a party hat — topped with tinsel, even — for her to place on her head.

Lucas and Caleb sang "For She's a Jolly Good Fellow," and since they had no candles, Caleb sparked a flame from his pocket lighter for Hanna to blow out.

"Let's raise a toast," Lucas said, holding up an invisible glass. "To a future without A."

"And without worries," added Caleb.

"And without twenty-page AP Calculus exams," Hanna said boldly.

They clinked imaginary glasses and drank up, their ears ringing not with the sound of buzzing or pinging or beeping cell phones and email alerts, but with the sound of their own laughter, loud enough to overcome it all.


End file.
